


And We Know That It Should...

by That_Green_Gentleman



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, Ryden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 10:12:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6653782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_Green_Gentleman/pseuds/That_Green_Gentleman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan has finally released a new solo album and is on tour for the first time in years. Brendon just so happens to be on tour at the same time, in the same city. How long can these two keep each other out of their minds? (Or more accurately, how long can they pretend that they want to?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And We Know That It Should...

Go out on stage and sing your damn heart out. Those are the words Brendon Urie has always taken to heart when going on tour. The crowd can tell when your heart isn’t in something, and no one pays good money for a ticket to see a guy going through the motions. Whether he wants to admit it or not, that’s why he took most of the _Pretty. Odd._ songs off the setlist. _No sense in trying to sing a duet solo._ Most of the time he pulls it off with aplomb, belting out lyrics and twisting around with the microphone stand like it’s a stripper pole, loving every minute of it. But he’ll be damned if there aren’t times when it’s harder to put on a sincere smile than others. Tonight just happened to have been one of those nights. There are cheers aplenty like usual, but as he finishes the last few bars of “Lying is the Most Fun”, he just feels like retreating into his hotel room and not coming out for a good long while. 

It wasn’t that he had grown tired of the music. Quite the opposite in fact; for instance, he’s spent over a decade now performing everyone’s favorites from _Fever_ and it’s still a pleasure seeing the smiles spread over people’s faces when he sings about getting those teen hearts beating faster. But still, it’s been awhile since he’s had a teen heart himself. If he didn’t know better, he’d think this was an early onset midlife crisis, the kind people resolve by buying a muscle car. _But I do know better._ Any melancholy he feels isn’t caused by getting older. And like always, he stops his thoughts dead in their tracks before they take the logical leap. All he needs is a good night’s sleep and perhaps a stiff drink.

...

On the drive back to the hotel, he takes out his phone and does the same thing he’s done for the past month and a half: _Look at the album you purchased on iTunes the day it came out. Maybe even go so far as to hover your finger over the play button while you wait for a text, or notification, or anything to distract you at the last minute so you can tell yourself you would have listened if only so-and-so hadn’t called. And if by some chance fate doesn’t want to play along with your childish delusions, make the call yourself. Tell her you can’t wait to come home because you miss her so much. Lastly, curse yourself because holy fuck, you’re starting to sound like one of his lyrics._

Tonight he doesn’t even do that much, instead just shoving it back into his pocket. Maybe he’d listen to it if he didn’t have to see Ryan’s face on the cover art every time. All he knows is that he really must have pissed off one of the Gods somewhere because if he had known sooner that their tour dates would line up to place them both in the same city in the same week, he’d have changed the schedule. But half the shows were already sold out at that point, and you can’t just do that to your fans. At any rate, listening to one of Ryan’s new songs right now would be worse than shooting himself in the head. If he’s going to think about Ryan, he’ll do it when they’re not in the same city anymore.

...

When he walks into the hotel lobby, all he wants is a pillow under his head and an off-switch on his brain. But halfway to the elevator, he sees him. Just finishing up a chat with someone Brendon assumes must be a tour manager, Ryan Ross stands before him, oblivious to his presence. _Maybe I dropped dead on stage or something and this is my own personal Hell. Any minute now I’m going to start turning gray and sprouting horns probably._ Eventually he realizes he’s been standing there dumbstruck for a solid minute, and becomes eternally glad that Ryan hasn’t seen him yet. That thought turns out to be premature though when Ryan turns to enter the elevator and they lock eyes. Time stops for a moment, only to start back up again when the doors begin to close. Ryan quickly sticks his hand out to keep them open, even though Brendon wishes he wouldn’t have.

“…I had no idea you were staying here,” Ryan eventually says.

“Neither did I. Know that you were here too, I mean…” Fucking up a simple sentence took all of one second. He should be proud, this beats his personal best. “I’ll uh… catch the next one.”

“What? You can’t be serious. Listen, I’m capable of being adult enough to share an elevator with you. Extend me the same courtesy?”

 _Why does everything that comes out of your mouth give me even more self-doubt than I already had?_ He steps into the elevator after a moment’s hesitation. And because life is cruel, Brendon realizes that Ryan has already pressed the button for his floor. “Going your way, apparently.”

For someone claiming to be ‘adult enough’, Ryan keeps awkwardly silent for just a few beats too long. “How’s the tour going?”

 _Great until I think about you. Next question?_ “Good. How about yours?”

“Yeah, going well. Forgot how exhausting it can get, but eventually it’s like riding a bike, I guess,” he says, giving an obviously forced half-smile.

 _I could put a smile on you that’s actually worthy of that face._ He stops himself from thinking things like that and just faces forward, staring at the elevator door. 

“Yeah, it’s not for the faint-of-heart.”

Mercifully, the doors open before either of them have to come up with some other form of small talk. “Well… I’ll see you. Good luck with the new album.”

“Same to you.” Brendon approaches his door and has to swipe the card about four times before it works. _Of course. I didn’t want any of my remaining dignity anyway._ He steps inside and closes the door, just leaning there against it for the longest time before gaining enough energy to turn a light on. Shortly thereafter he’s collapsed on the bed, though he’s far from asleep.

...

Trying to sleep when an ex-lover is on your mind is a useless endeavor. Luckily, in times like this nature has provided a natural salve for these kinds of emotional scars: vodka. Three and a half glasses later, Brendon is nowhere near close to feeling better, though he is approaching a shortcut to passing out, which is probably the best end to the night he can hope for at this point. There’s one thing he always tends to forget though, and it’s that he is nothing if not an amorous drunk. After all, a long night of drinking was the catalyst for finally listening to _Take a Vacation!_ several years ago, a decision he still halfway regrets. 

The slow, pleasant blurring of his mind also allows him to entertain dangerous thoughts, ones that can’t exist without incurring horrible guilt while sober. _I should be able to remember the feeling of kissing you without needing a bottle to keep from folding in on myself. Actually I shouldn’t want to remember any of it, but that’s not the point._ Eventually the thought gets so comfortable that he wonders why Ryan isn’t in his bed right now. The difference is that up until now he’s never been in a position to make that concept a reality. The difference is that Ryan is a mere hallway away, probably sleeping peacefully. _He could be awake though. I’ll just be neighborly and go ask if he wants to have a friendly conversation or a good fuck..._

By the time he realizes he’s on the path to certain doom, his feet are already making their way toward the door. _He would hate me for it. I would hate me for it. On the other hand, I’m goddamn pathetic._ His hand reaches out and opens the door. All the while, he tells himself that before he takes another step his senses will have returned to him and he’ll go back to bed. Maybe he would have been right, but he’ll never know because all he sees on the other side of the door are a pair of hazel eyes.

...

Brendon is far too shocked to make any kind of intuitive leaps regarding the reason Ryan is currently standing at his door. In fact, he’s lucky to be able to form a whole word. “H-hi…” Not even a whole word, he stuttered.

Ryan doesn’t respond for a second, evidently also shocked that Brendon opened the door before he even had to knock. When he does speak, it’s in a sort of flat, quiet voice. “Hi. Can I come in?”

The answer to that question will never, ever be ‘no’, but it still gives Brendon pause, because if he were a little more sober he’d have realized by now that Ryan coming to his room should be raising all sorts of flags. “...Sure.”

Ryan steps inside almost casually, which lends the whole moment a kind of surreal quality, as if this happened all the time. And of course, the first thing he takes notice of is the now half-empty bottle of vodka on the nightstand. “Are you doing alright?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.

“Yeah,” Brendon responds immediately. It’s been his default answer to that question for some time now, ever since it stopped being true most likely. But he’s in no mood to lie right now. “No. I don’t know.”

Ryan walks over to the bottle and takes a glass. “You mind if I steal some?” Without waiting for an answer, he pours half a glass and proceeds to knock it back in one go.

The very sight of that is enough to make an already slightly intoxicated Brendon uncomfortably turned on. This can’t be what it feels like. “Do you wanna talk or?”

Ryan puts the glass down and returns to Brendon. “Not really,” he says with a glint of something all-too-familiar in his eyes, right before kissing him deeply.

Apparently this really is what it feels like, and what it feels like is Ryan’s lips on his. It makes everything perfect all of a sudden, but an inconvenient part of his brain is telling him to stop. He pulls away from the kiss, knowing that soon he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself. “Wait… I don’t…” he trails off. Why is this a bad idea again? It’s a rhetorical question, since the ring on his finger is a physical reminder of just how inadvisable this is. Nothing good can happen here.

When Ryan realizes that Brendon isn’t reciprocating, he immediately backs up and turns away in order to hide the growing embarrassment flooding across his cheeks. He feels like garbage, and there’s no way to disguise it. “Sorry…” he says weakly. “I’m just… gonna go…” He figures that if he leaves now and just goes to sleep, the both of them can chalk it up to a bad dream and move on, if they even regard it at all.

Hearing Ryan speak like that and act so ashamed overrules common sense, so Brendon grabs onto Ryan’s hand tightly. “No, please, I just…” he starts, then stops. He’s only fucking up the night even more than it already was. The blame can now be passed around equally.

“No. Don’t,” Ryan says quickly, making every effort to sound stronger. He knows Brendon had the right idea pulling away, that this is just a last-minute hesitation, almost like muscle memory. And it’ll fade. “It was a mistake. Just forget about it.”

Brendon doesn’t loosen his grip at all. _What the fuck are you doing letting him leave? This is Ryan._ It’s a voice that speaks a lot more clearly than the one from before, and he listens to it, because it suddenly feels like the most urgent thing in the world. “Would you please just sit down?” He looks Ryan directly in the eye.

Ryan can’t stand to return his gaze for long. After making a complete ass out of himself, the last thing he wants is sustained eye contact. “Why?” He should have just walked out. Asking questions just admits the possibility that there’s a right answer to be found, when in reality there are only trap doors.

“...Because I have this feeling that if you don’t neither of us will again.” He’s speaking from the heart now, letting that inner voice be heard. It turns out to be enough to make Ryan sit down, but the room remains silent. Without even realizing he’s done anything, Brendon has gently started to rub Ryan’s palm with his thumb. It’s exactly what he used to do when they were in bed together on lazy mornings when neither of them needed to get up particularly soon.

Though Ryan fully comprehends how doomed he is by sitting down on the edge of the bed with him, he still has yet to fully register the feelings in his mind. That changes as soon as Brendon’s touch on his hand triggers a sense memory. It’s downright scary how quickly it feels like 2008 again, and he almost resents it. “That’s not fucking fair…” he says, meaning it as a protest but barely managing a whisper.

Brendon feels caught between two extremes. Actually, that isn’t the right way to think about it. What he really feels right now is paralyzed. He could just do whatever he wanted and find absolutely no resistance. The prospect is terrifying, and he finds that no words will even leave his mouth at this point.

Becoming almost irritated at his former lover’s lack of decisive action, Ryan looks at him directly. “Are you doing this on purpose? Switching it around on me for fun?” he asks, eyes beginning to glisten despite his best efforts.

It takes a couple of seconds for him to realize what Ryan is trying to say, but when he does it hits him like a brick. The last time the two of them were in a bedroom together, it was Brendon who felt like, and loudly complained about feeling like, the fool. The situation has obviously been reversed at this point, which is saddening.

“You know what, I guess I deserve it,” Ryan says with a mix of resignation and bitterness, looking down at the floor. “Go ahead and get your digs in.”

“Shut up,” Brendon cuts him off. That may have sounded harsher than he intended, but he refused to let them go down this particular road. “I would never try to hurt you like that.” He wonders how true that is, considering the number of songs he’s written over the years specifically dedicated to metaphorically cussing Ryan out, but that doesn’t matter. Right now, sitting next to each other and speaking in shaky tones, Brendon knows that he would never hurt this man. It’s the unexpected strength of that conviction that forces him to cede all logic and just press his lips to Ryan’s. It’s not an eloquent, practiced kiss; it’s rushed and heavy and agonizingly good.

Ryan knew that kissing Brendon again would feel wonderful; that is, after all, the whole reason he had been preparing to knock on the door when Brendon opened it. But whatever kind of reaction he thought it could elicit, his mind couldn’t have prepared for this. This is deep and passionate and it means something, he knows it in his heart. So without sparing a moment for practical concerns, he only asks one question, mumbled between their lips. “...No second thoughts?”

The answer doesn’t have to come in words. Brendon pushes him down onto the bed and lands on top of him, their mouths crashing together and their clothes soon flying off.

...

The sunlight peeking through the curtains and onto his face is enough to wake Brendon up, but only enough that he can shift just an inch or so to the right. As small thoughts begin to form in his newly conscious head, it occurs to him that this is, without a doubt, the most well-rested he’s felt in a long while. Most of the time he wakes up feeling tired and shitty, at least until he’s had a cup of coffee. He’s about to move when he realizes that he is not the sole occupant of this bed. It’s slow coming back to him though, and he’s actually confused for a moment. Then he opens his eyes and sees Ryan, still asleep and curled up next to him. Everything from the previous night returns to his mind in an instant, and Brendon practically freezes in place. 

_If I make even the slightest wrong move, I’m bound to wake up for real this time. It’ll be like one of those falling dreams where I wake with a jolt to an empty bed, the way it should be. Why should this morning be different from every other morning it’s happened?_ He’s not about to claim that this hasn’t been a recurring dream for the last several years, because there’s little to no sense in lying to your own thoughts. But it soon becomes obvious that this is no dream. It’s far too real to be a dream. Brendon laments for a moment that he’s so preoccupied thinking about the ramifications of this situation to appreciate how good he feels. Suffice it to say, getting to know Ryan’s body again was an indescribable pleasure that he won’t ever be forgetting, for better or worse depending on how the next several minutes turn out. There’s only one course of action to take though where that’s concerned; he has to wait for Ryan to wake up and let him decide. 

It’s fairly obvious what that decision is going to be, of course; Ryan will want to get out as quickly as possible, because he’ll understand that this was a complete fluke. As Brendon had already concluded yesterday, some cruel trickster God must have put them in the same hotel on the same floor just for the laughs. And they certainly provided more than their fair share. The important part is that it will never have a chance to happen again. It shouldn’t have happened this time, but they were both weak. Nostalgia and old love overrode common sense. Just the mention of that troublesome four-letter word brings to mind with painful clarity how they both professed as much to each other in the heat of the moment, not eight hours ago. That’s going to make this even more difficult, should either of them choose to acknowledge it. 

His thoughts are interrupted when he senses that Ryan is slowly beginning to stir. _Good, as soon as you move over onto the other side of the bed, I can get up as quietly as possible and give you a chance to leave without having to sort through the aftermath. Thankfully there’s not much of a walk of shame involved when your own room is only a handful of feet away._ Ryan stretches a bit and cuddles against him even closer than he was before. _Of course. Because why the hell should anything be made easy. And why the hell do you look just as gorgeous as ever._ Temptation once again prevails as Brendon can’t help but wrap his arms around Ryan and hold him close, almost protectively. _Maybe if we stay in here for eternity, the world will never find us and we’ll be just fine._

It’s then that Ryan wakes up fully, and his eyes blink open. They almost immediately lock gazes, both remaining silent. He feels like he needs to say something, but instead stops short and settles for resting his head on Brendon’s chest.

Brendon is more than willing to let this last for as long as Ryan wants, despite the fact that they’re only prolonging the inevitable pain now. And if a visual symbol is needed to hammer the point in, he only need look at the ring on the nightstand, a sight all too easy to ignore when those hazel eyes are there to stare into. After that it feels like an hour passes without any words spoken between the two, though in reality it must be closer to a couple of minutes.

“I miss you,” Ryan finally says, softly breaking the silence. Not ‘missed’, but ‘miss’, since he knows that there’s a good chance he’ll just go on missing him after today.

“...I miss you too.” Brendon thought there would be an argument, some sort of confrontation and harsh airing of long-held feelings and bitterness. Instead he just feels profoundly sad. _Holy shit, it’s been so long. Why has it been so long?_

Without taking the time to think about it, Ryan just starts kissing on Brendon’s chest, slowly moving up to his shoulder and then neck. It feels right somehow, and they didn’t really take the time for the slow stuff last night, so he’s making up for it.

The gesture prompts Brendon to let out a deep breath of relief that he didn’t even know he’d been holding. And along with the breath goes his remaining fear, evidently. “I love you.” It shouldn’t be so easy to admit, but it is.

For a stray moment, Ryan doesn’t want to say it back. It’s been too long, there’s no point. He doesn’t love him, he’s the one who left him behind and made a vow to never look back. They should just enjoy last night for what it was and go no further. But the moment is fleeting, because being with Brendon makes these sort of thoughts feel unimportant at best, and cruel at worst. “I love you too.”

As gratifying as it is to hear Ryan say that, and make no mistake, it fills him with a unique kind of joy he hasn’t known in years, their dual admissions prompt the most terrifying thought to enter Brendon’s head: _Now what?_ He’s spoken openly this far though, so there’s not really any point in stopping now. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know.” Ryan feels like this is stepping over an important line in the sand. By acknowledging that he doesn’t know what to do, he’s directly implying that there’s something to be done, it’s just undetermined as of yet. “I don’t want to think about it. That’s complicated, and this isn’t,” he says, referring to their entwined limbs. It’s a childish, defiant thing to say, but he doesn’t care.

“Yeah,” Brendon concurs with a sigh. Anything after this point will require deep thinking about their relationship, which is something he’s been studiously avoiding for about a decade. It’s scary how all it took was one night together for the possibilities to suddenly start blooming in his mind again. This shouldn’t be easy.

Feeling the need to say something more substantive if only to prove that he isn’t as shallow as his previous comment made him out to be, Ryan continues his train of thought aloud. “I really tried not to think about you. I honestly did. I think it might have even been working for a while there… but then that Halloween happened and I just felt like a mess. Started writing music again just to focus on something.”

The reminder of that party almost makes Brendon cringe. Seeing Ryan after all that time almost made him feel sick inside. “I couldn’t write without focusing on you. Opposite problem, I guess.” It’s a painful truth, but if there’s ever been a time for it, it’s now. “I could always do a better job of forgetting between albums. On tour though…” On tour there’s no peace to be had, is the end of that thought. Like this tour, to be quite honest; he’d been thinking of Ryan long before they met in the lobby.

Though Ryan would never say as much, it was obvious to him where most of Brendon’s songs have been directed. There’s nothing quite like listening to the radio and hearing an intensely private ode from your old love playing to an audience of millions. “I’ve listened to it all,” he confirms with the ghost of a smirk, tracing his fingertips across Brendon’s chest. “You always knew how to make me feel special…”

He always wondered whether Ryan ignored the new albums or not, so that’s one longstanding curiosity resolved. “I’m sorry if I ever made you uncomfortable,” he says quietly. “You took my heart with you, I couldn’t help it coming out in the music.” His statements are turning flowery and grand, not a good omen for the grounded and adult direction he thought this conversation should probably take. And of course he’s started crying now. It’s not the intense weeping or sobbing that took place after they broke up, but the sort of tears you don’t even notice until suddenly they’re streaming down your face. Upon looking back at his bedmate, he sees there are no dry eyes here.

“I just… I couldn’t give you what you wanted from me. I didn’t think I had it in me to give, and that terrified the shit out of me. And I feel so fucking guilty for it, but that’s what happened,” Ryan says. The confession takes a lot out of him, and he wipes a tear away.

Those are the words that Brendon has been waiting to hear for years. He didn’t know in what form they would come, but he recognized them automatically as they left Ryan’s mouth. Is this what vindication feels like? If so, he’s moving past it pretty fast. There’s no reason to feel good about Ryan’s pain. He’s not a jerk, no matter how many times he’s regrettably thought unpleasant things about him over the years. Now he just wants to let him say whatever he needs to. _I’ve waited this long to hear you talk to me again, it’s not like I can’t shut up for a while._

“And it’s not because I didn’t love you. I loved you more than anything. Love you more than anything. But I was scared,” he continues, trying to keep an even tone of voice, lest he start to sound blubbery. Just like Ryan hoped wouldn’t happen, his words are becoming less collected and less filtered. He’s still scared.

Overcome with the need to do something, but unsure of what that could be, Brendon just holds him tighter and presses his lips to Ryan’s forehead. “I… I got stupid. It was so fucking petty…” He’s mad at himself, though he knows that won’t solve anything. “I should have given you time. Or room, whatever.”

“Come on. You know that I was looking for a reason to be driven away,” Ryan whispers softly, unwilling to let the blame be placed squarely in one corner.

If life was fair, this conversation would lead to something. They’ve literally made up. After so long, and they just made up, simple as that. But Brendon knows that life doesn’t care. The wheel keeps on spinning whether you want it to or not. And the defeatist tugging at the corner of his mind keeps saying ‘none of this matters’. Maybe it should matter, but there’s no way the conversation lives beyond the confines of this bed. It makes him grow cold all of a sudden, and he hates it.

Ryan can tell what Brendon is thinking, partially because he’s had the same thoughts already, though maybe to a lesser degree. There’s only one ring on the nightstand, after all. “...My tour is just about over. What about yours?” He knows how transparent and pathetic he sounds.

“You don’t have to do that,” Brendon stops him. There’s a hopeless romantic that’s even more hopelessly in love with Ryan begging to take over in his head, but it would hurt too much to let it. “Seriously, if you just want to go, I’m not--”

“Don’t you even dare,” Ryan cuts him off, utterly opposed to what Brendon’s trying to do. “You know it’s a lie. Now just kiss me, alright?”

Brendon doesn’t bother refuting his claim, instead simply pulling him in for another long, passionate kiss. When it ends, Brendon regards him more honestly. “I love you, Ry.”

“I love you, Bren.” 

Several hours pass after that before they leave the room.

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic literally started with me throwing ideas at the wall during a three in the morning Omegle chat. All great ideas have to be born somewhere, I suppose. Infinite thanks to the friends I've made through shared Panic! fandom (and shared suffering) who helped me hammer out the idea!


End file.
